So fresh and so clean

Did you notice anything different? Anything new maybe? ^^^^ huh, huh?

Since I am no longer just a mama to a wild and crazy guy, who's daily antics test the upper levels of my patience, I feel my blog should reflect that change in my life as well. Now, I have TWO wild and crazy children who prove there is no better solution for being overworked, overstressed, underpaid and out of time than to self medicate with lots of wine.

In honor of my NEW changes, I thought I'd share an OLD story that still gets me and is still hanging around.

If four years of motherhood had taught me anything, it is that a quiet 3yr old means bad things are unfolding. I had foolishly thought I'd be safe doing a load of laundry and doing a quick pick up downstairs while Tyler played quietly in his room.

For anyone who has met Tyler, you know Tyler does not have a quiet function. Nothing about him is quiet, subdued or calm. He's a 24/7, high energy, keeping you on your toes, tornado of destruction. Remember this incident? Or what about this one? Tyler being quiet means I'm in BIG trouble.

Trouble yes, but how much trouble I could not have foreseen on my worst day.

I climbed the stairs carting a basket of clean clothes. As I hit the top step I got a faint whiff of baby power. That's odd.... I did a quick sniff check of my own underarms. Negative. I'm not what I'm smelling. I headed down the hall towards Tyler's room, rounded the door frame and froze. My mouth hung gaped open. The laundry basket tumbled from my fingers and landed on my big toe. [thud]

Tyler stood in the middle of his room, facing his toy bins with a hand me down make-up brush poised in his hand like he was a CSI: Las Vegas reject. Every surface in his room was covered in a layer of baby powder including himself. It was like it had snowed, but it was the middle of July. Clouds of baby powder hung in the air, leaving the whole room in a fog.

Me: "Tyler WHAT are you DOING!" my voice going up an octave with each word
Tyler: "I'm dusting mommy. See..." flicking a mess of baby powder in my direction with the make-up brush.

I was so overwhelmed by the situation nothing definitive came out of my mouth

Me: "Wha, Uh, Ac, Umm, Huh, aah!!....humph"

Feeling overly defeated, I turned and walked out of the room. Tyler called after me.

Tyler: "Where ya going mommy?"
Me: "I'm going to get the vacuum"
Tyler: "Yah!"

My excitement didn't quite equal Tyler's.

Me: "Yah....."

To this day, I still find toys that have baby powder residue in their joints.

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FML, SMH, IRL....whatever!

Fads/Sayings have a shelf life, so I've been told. When your grandmother gets in on the action you can officially say "that is so yesterday..." But what happens when you're a 31 yr old woman who witnessed the birth of the information super highway, grew up in the dot.com age and still hasn't a clue about what's hip, cool or popular? What then? Am I fad roadkill? Did I metaphorically get run over by the short bus to popular town with grandma at the wheel?

My glaring lack of hipness went all Chuck Norris on me last week when during a business luncheon with a potential client she fist bumped me across the table.

"Ya girl, that was a good sales pitch!" [bump]

The client was probably mid 40's and white. Not that it truly mattered, but it helps to quantify the situation. I hesitantly jerked my own hand into a fist, bumped her back and forced a smile. My face a clear signal I was befuddled while my head is screaming "What the hell just happened??"

This unfortunately is not an isolated incident. I often find myself Googling stuff I come across because I haven't a clue what the hell someone is talking about. Google, being the trusted reliable friend it is, keeps my secret.

The husband is even a constant reminder that I'm behind the times with my 2yr old blackberry. His "fancy" phone can do all sorts of things mine can't.

The husband: "Check this out! I can text you without touching a button! Watch this, watch this! Did you get it?? Sweet huh??" [nodding]

Me: [looking down at the text message] "Yea, whatever...."

The husband: [baby talking] "Aww don't be sore that you're crappy phone isn't sweet like mine. You can have mine when I upgrade to the newest thing next year!"

Not wanting to let the husband know I covet his "fancy" phone that plays angry birds; me, my pride and my crappy blackberry walked out of the room.

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Here fishy fishy fishy.....

They say women marry their fathers. And as true as this may be, to some women this may be an exasperated idea. To this I say, embrace this concept and revel in the idea that while your husband/father may have many differences, it is their similarities that will help to define your marriage and child rearing.

In honor of Father's Day, I encourage you to stop and take a moment to reflect on how your own relationship with your father helped you find that perfect mate.

Ways that the husband and the father are alike:

They both have a tendency to speak their minds albeit with a frank no bullshit mentality.

Due to their frankness, you either love 'em or hate 'em.

They are like a dog with a bone about ideas.

They both do not have the natural "Mr. Fix-it all" gene.

They are not sit behind a desk kind of men.

Their ideal retirement location is warm and sandy.

They would both gladly spend the rest of their lives on a boat.

Golfing is a highly stressful highly rewarding pastime for each of them. When they find the time.

They both have an extreme love of fishing. The fish however don't always love them back.

and....

They both have spent a majority of their children's early lives away from home, working hard to provide the best possible life for each of them. And to that I know we are all eternally grateful.

Happy Father's Day to my 2 favorite Dad's.

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Have I got a solution for you!

When you've got 2 kids, a full time career with many late nights and a husband who works 90+ hr weeks you learn to just roll with things. I've learned to lower my standards. 90 percent of the time my house looks like a bomb went off. Food stuck to the table, dirty dishes in the sink, drop pile by the front door, finger prints on every window, cheerios as far as the eye can see, toys strewn about, 3 days of mail piled up on the counter and laundry more than week over due. Does this bother me? Absolutely. Does this stress me out? You betcha. Can I do a thing about it? Not a chance.

I've tried using "organizational guru" tips/tricks to contain my mess. None had staying power. My favorite is the Clean for 20 mins a day to make the work seem less cumbersome tip. See.....here's the thing. I'd have to actually FIND 20 mins in my day with nothing better to do than clean. And we all know that ain't happening! But what I could do is consult with my 4yr old, who apparently has a great idea on how to control my clutter.....genius!

As my very best friend can attest, my son is a walking infomercial. It's comical his undying belief in products like Happy Nappers and the The Gyro Bowl. Without fail he can recite commercial verbiage of the most current As Seen On TV product. He's the next TV Pitchman.

Tyler: "Mom! You need a space bag!"

Me: "A what?!"

Tyler: "A space bag, ya know....." demonstrating the item with square hand gestures and a hand pat for emphasis.

Me: "I do do I? And why is that?"

Tyler: "Because your closet is a mess, just look at this clutter! [hands extended out in display] The space bag helps organize your shoes, your sweaters, your coats. AND it's safe from dirt and bugs!"

I guess that about says it all doesn't it.

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We're gonna need a fork lift

A while back it was mentioned to me that I needed to start writing again. Why? Because dammit apparently people like me. Aww, well....gee shuks thanks people. [blush]

So here it is [drum roll] back by popular demand......The new! The improved! The blog! [cymbal crash]

[crickets chirp]

No seriously, let's be honest a hot minute. It's not new and it's defintely not improved. In fact it's probably just about the same, with maybe a bit more cynicism. Overworked with a serious lack of free time and sleep will do that do ya. But it still is a blog. So I guess 1 outta three ain't bad.

To recap my life in the [cough] YEAR that it's been since I last wrote; I gained some weight, had a baby, lost some weight, got reorganized at work which equaled more work same pay, found a sincere love of wine (my Saturday night safety net) and am trying desperately to raise a 4yr old who out runs me, out smarts me and is generally funny as hell.

Case in point: This morning, as I was getting dressed for work, I reminded Tyler that the play kitchen I ordered over this past weekend would be arriving today, at some point. Apparently he missed the "at some point" part and made a bee line for the front window to "stalk" the delivery guy. Kinda reminded me of someone else who stalks the delivery guy

[head shake] Dear God, have mercy on my neighbors. There he was at 6:45am, standing in my front window, in his pull-up and nothing else, bouncing, pulsating with anticipation over a to-be-delivered play kitchen. If little old miss Norma, who takes her morning walks, would have seen him she would have fainted right there on the sidewalk. Medic!

Concerned that the delivery man was not arriving at that very moment, Tyler hollered up at me to "Call the delivery man! Find out where he is!"

My reply that I did not have said phone number, was met with a thumping up the stairs and a prompt face to face conversation that I needed to get that number.

Tyler: "Mom, we need to get that number!" shaking his hands splayed out palm

Me: "Sorry bud, don't have it. But don't worry, it'll be here today"

Tyler: "Mom, I hope it comes with directions"

Me: "I'm sure it will honey" returning to concentrate on my makeup

Tyler: "Mom, we're gonna need a screwdriver and a drill and scissors and some tape and a fork lift!" his arms flapping around demonstrating each tool.

Me: "A fork lift??"

Tyler: "Oh yea, because the box is gonna be THIS big" with his arms stretched out in all directions.

Me: "You're probably right. I'll pick one up on my way home"

Tyler: "Ok, sounds good"

And he walked out of my room and back to the window to continue stalking the delivery man. Like mother like son.

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